LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




DDQl'^33fl3^3 ^ 



^.* .# ^ "^^ 






.- .o^ -^^ %^ 






.^^ 






,„v 







0^ J 



0^ 



^'^m^J 



0/- ^ 



^^ v^ 




.V ^ 







«^ ^ V s.^ *« 















^^d* 



9=. "' 



v 







r '<* 

















,^o^ 









&.<< 

.s*^. 






,f ^. 


















r\J. V- 



A Little Book of 
Prairie Breezes 



33 



■By y. W. FOLEY 

of the 
Bismarck Tribune 



THfc LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

m 24 1903 

Ccpyrignt tntry 

CUSS O^ XXc. No. 

COPY B 



-^^■^ 



5-11 



.0^^ 



l^ 



)<? 



g? ^ 



(s^ 



In the publication of this little book grateful acknowledgment is 
made of the courtesies of Mr. M. H. Jewell, of the 
Bismarck Tribune, in whicl] the greater 
number of these poems orig- 
inally appeared. 



Cop-Frighted, 1902, 

by 

J. W. Foley 



To E. D. F, 



Press of The Tribune, 
Bismarck. N. D. 



T>on' Want to Stay 



^ES' don' seem I want to stay 
O Sence she went away. 
Jes' don' seem as if I care. 
Everything seems bare 
An' empty now, an' so I say 
Jes' don' seem I want to stay. 

Sun shines, bird songs in tli' air 
Jes' don' seem I care. 
All til' music o' til' spring 
Don' seem anything. 
Used to love it, but to-day 
Jes' don' seem I want to stay. 

Walk in' roun' tli' field to-day, 

Don' look til' same way, 

Cattle lowin', crop to spare, 

Jes ' seems I don ' care. 

Scent o' flowers an' new cut hay, 

Jes ' don ' seem I want to stay. 

Used to like to hear the breeze 
Rustlin' througfi the trees. 
Thought thi' grass a' growin' green 
Prettiest thing I seen. 
All changed sence she went away, 
Jes' don' seem to want to stay. 



...I. 



"dropping "Pebbles in the Stream 



<57~^ R OP a pebble in the water— jes ' a splas/^ an ' 

it is gone. 
But ill's half a hundred ripples circlin' on, an' on, 

an' on, 
Spreadin ', spreadin ' from the center, flowfn ' on out 

to the sea. 
An' til' aint no way o' tellin' where tl^' end is goin' 

to be. 
Drop a pebble in the water — in a minute ye forget. 
But th 's little waves a ' flowin ' an' th 's ripples circlin ' 

All tti' ripples flowin', flowin', to a mighty wave 

hev grown. 
An' ye've disturbed a mighty river— jes' by droppin' 

in a stone. 

Drop an unkind word or careless — in a minute it is 

gone. 
But th's half a hundred ripples circlin' on, an' on, 

an' on. 
Til' Ji^sp spreadin', spreadin', spreadin' from tli' 

center as tli' go. 
An' til' aint no way to stop 'em, once ye've started 

'em to flow. 
Drop an unkind word or careless—in a minute ye 

forget. 
But th 's little waves a ' flowin ' an' th 's ripples circlin^ 

vet. 



.2... 



Qwe Me Content 



An' perhaps in some sad heart a might-^ wave of 

tears Y^'ve stirred. 
An' disturbed a life et's happY when ye dropped an 

unkind word. 

Drop a word o' cheer an' kindness — jes' a flash an' 

it is gone, 
But th's half a hundred ripples circlin' on, an' on, 

an' on, 
Bearin' hope an^ jov an' comfort on cadi splashin', 

dashin' wave. 
Till I'e wouldn't b'lieve the volume o' tli one kind 

word j'e gave. 
Drop a word o' cheer and kindness — in a minute ye 

forget. 
But th's gladness still a swellin' an' th's joy a circlin' 

An' ye've rolled a wave of comfort whose sweet music 

can be heard 
Over miles an' miles o' water — jes' by droppin' a 

kind word. 



y^ IVE me Content, all else is vain. 
^^Nor Power, nor Majesty mi ay gain 
The prize. And yet in me are blent 
All these, the while I have Content. 



...3... 



In Childhood Time 



J-JARK! I hear the happy laughter that from 

children's voices rings, 
Swelling cut like some vast golden harp witli half 

a thousand strings. 
Every one vibrating grandly in an ecstatic acclaim. 
In a medley of sweet melodies that set the birds 

to shame; 
On the harp of Childhood's happiness eacl^ note 

rings clear and true. 
For the heart is pure and perfect and eacli quiv- 
ering string is new. 
And it tells and swells like bells afar that ring and 

rhyme and chime 
The sweetest music ever told in note or tune or 

time. 

When the heart is growing older and the harp of 

laughter rings 
There's a false note clashing somewhere in the 

swelling of the strings; 
There 's a chord that strikes imperfect, where some 

sorrow echoes througli 
The melody, and grief has warped the strings to 

strains not true. 
Sometimes there 's brilliant music that rings from 

an empty heart. 
But it 's not the melodious laughter of the child, that 

knows no art. 



.4... 



The Power of Love 



But Just flows full and free, for Nature's teachings, 

undefiled. 
Make music that is heart-true in the sweet voice of a 

child. 

Could I gather ever^ note that floats and rings and 

swells and tells 
The gladness of the child's heart, true as any chime 

of bells 
May tell the passing hour, and fashion them into 

a song, 
' T would thrill and fill the air witli melody as thougli 

a throng 
Of seraphim, as tinkling cymbals struck the twink- 
ling stars 
In heaven's perfect music, where no din or discord 

mars. 
And a myriad strings would mingle in a melody 

sublime. 
The rhyme and chime of laughter gathered from 

all Childhood's Time. 



CT^ HE thunder of Hate may be lost on the gale, 
^ May be stilled in the storm, in the tempest may fail, 
But the whisper of Love wings unerring its way. 
From a star to a star, througli the ages for aye. 



...5. 



A Human Life 



// SHIP that throbs along in dire distress 
^^ Till lost in oceans of forget fulness. 

A tangle of sweet flowers whose petals turn 
To asl2 of un fulfilment in an urn. 

A wisp of tangled threads, whose parted ends 
No deft hand joins, no endless effort mends. 
A plaY whose fickle plavers merely greet 
And go and leave the story incomplete. 

A bud that opens brilliant at the dawn. 
Flings sweet perfume a moment and is gone. 
A breatli between a cradle and a bier. 
The blending of a smile, a sob, a tear. 

A book whoss pages turn witl^ eacl^ new day 
Till Time has read the tale and cast away. 
A mask worn till a passing play is done. 
To cloak a wraitl^ and hide a skeleton. 

A lie, whose ghostly semblance is concealed 
Till in a shroud its untrutli lies revealed. 
A thing that shapes the sod for a brief day 
And dies and leaves its faithful slave more clay. 

A story that is told ere 'tis begun, 

A song that only wt^ispers and is done; 

A thing that chains the lightnings and that stirs 

The deep — the elements its messengers. 



.6... 



Winfer and Summer 



Lord of the sea and sky, a ruler proud 
That quakes at storms and trembles at a cloud. 
That comes and goes on wings unseen— a germ 
That grows to fill a grave and feed a worm. 



^ NOW on the hilltops, drear and bleak. 

Snow in the vales where the shrill winds speak 
In mournful tones ; but deep and deep 
Down, down, beneatli, the flowers sleep. 

Green are the hilltops, fresl^ and fair. 
Sweet is the breath of the scented air. 
Loosed the chains of the ice locked lake. 
And the sad earth smiles and the flowers wake. 

Snow on the heart that is riven and bleak, 
Snow on the heart where voices speak. 
Voices of grief that is deep and deep. 
Yet still in the heart the flowers sleep. 

A whisper of hope on the scented air. 
Flown is the snow and the bleak heart fair; 
Dull Griefs grim fetters break and break. 
And the sad heart smiles and the flowers wake. 



...y. 



Where? 



' TTT^HERE lies the town of Happiness ?" 
' ^ Cried the youtf^ to the wrinkled sage 
As they met one da'y on the weary way 
That lies twixt Youth and Age. 
The gray haired wise man shook his head: 

" ' Tis a little farther on, " he said. 

" Where lies the town of Happiness? 

I pray we reacfi it soon, " 

For risen higli in the molten sky 

Was the sun that marked Life's noon. 

But again the wise man shook his head: 
" 'Tis a little farther on," he said. 

''Where lies the town of Happiness?" 
The youtJ^ was old and gray, 
Willi shoulders bent, and eyes intent 
Where the road stretched forthi, away. 
The wise man sadly shook his head: 

" 'Tis a little farther on, " he said. 

"Where lies the town of Happiness ?" 
Down, down, in the dust he fell. 
His voice was shrill and the deatti films fill 
His eyes. Mused the sage: " 'Tis well." 
And there gleamed in his eye a tear unshed: 

"For me, 'tis farther on,'' he said. 



.8... 



The Parted Threads 



TF he came back, I wonder would he know 
The voices whispering of the long ago? 
If he came back I wonder would he see 
The beauties, buried now, that used to be? 
If he came back, back from the dust and dead, 
I wonder would he seek the broken thread, 
And follow on, o'er sod and o'er the sea. 
Until it led him back to }^out/^, and me? 

If he came back, I wonder would he share 
My dreams? Or would the roses in m-y hair 
Be but dull, voiceless flowers of the spring. 
Speechless and silent ; mute; nor whispering 
The secrets once they told? Or would they glow 
Witlj the sweet memories of long ago. 
Where ever)? petal quivered witli the weight 
And grandeur of a rapture passionate? 

If he came back, I wonder would he feel 
The rapture of the hopes that used to steal 
From out the tinted twilight as we stood 
BeneatFi the boughs in the thick, leafy wood. 
Thrilled witf^ the song whose silent melody 
None heard, in all its ecstasy, but we? 
Would he now hear that whispered song and low 
If he came back, who went so long ago? 

Where ends the song that is yet half unsung? 
In the still mound, where the green turf upflung? 



...p.. 



At The War Office 



Dies all the music, or but hid in air. 
Trembling, -^et mute, in that vast Otherwhere? 
The threads now parted, who shall mend again. 
Weld broken links, restore the chain? And then 
When they come back, who have been gone so 

long, 
I wonder will they know the old, sweet song? 



^ WOMAN poor and a peeress proud, 
QyjLA dingy room and a crushing crowd. 
The gloom of deatli and grave and shroud, 
A stifled cry and a sob, aloud. 

A heart has heard and an eye has read; 
A soul has writhed, and a lowered head 
Is bowed, and a trembling tongue has said: 
'My God ! My God ! And he is dead ! " 

A wail, a sob and a bitter cry; 

An anguished tear in a woman 's eye; 

A peeress ' face where agony 

Is carved, and a mutely murmured: "Why? 

A woman stares and a peeress starts. 
Without, the din of traffic's marts 
Throbs in the streets. Lie far apart 
Their lives; but close, so close their hearts. 



lo. 



Indestructible 



^ j3 WREA Til of roses hung upon a stone. 
Above me, this alone. 

A sob that floats, and falling tear on tear 
Descending here. 

Some soul in sorrow kneeling at the tomb. 
And in the gloom, 

Pouring above me to the silent air 
Its deep despair. 

Thougk cold the pulseless clay and deaf the ear. 
Yet I shall hear. 

Thoughi the thick shadows endlessly shall flow. 
Still shall I know. 

Thougli from the dumb, dead tenement in flight 
Wing life and light. 

Yet not deserted lies the silent clay. 
For Love shall stay. 

Crumble the stone and in the dust shall lie. 
Yet Love not die. 

Througli the long night when the dark shadows creep. 
Not even sleep. 

But whisper from the silence of the bier: 
' Lo ! I am here. ' ' 



...II. 



The Village Churc/^ 



JX/'E 'RE off for the village cburcli lo-dai'— Mother 
' ' an' Moll an ' me. 

Come fr'm tli ' cUy, a hundred miles, to go, espec- 
ially^. 
Been goin ' to krownstone gospel shops, iinposin ' an ' 

grand an' swell. 
But I don 't feel that hankerin ' there for Heaven or 

that proper fear o ' Hell, 
That I alius did in tli' little churcli in th' village we 

used to 'tend. 
Where tli' green woodbine an' tli' ivy twine, an' the 

songbirds' voices blend 
Willi til' village choir, an' the gospel hymns rang out 

on til ' summer air. 
An' til' Lord sort o' seemed to come right down an' 

sit among us there. 

Off for til' village churcli to-day — there's a tear in 

Motlier's eye. 
An' another one in my own, I guess, but I couldn't 

tell ye why; 
Mebbe it's ^ cause we was married there, so many 

years ago. 
An' our boy lies there in his grave, asleep, an' tli' 

music seems to flow 
Out througli the vine-clad window in a sort o' lullaby, 
As til' breatli o' God might kiss tli' sod where the 

souls all sleeping lie. 



12... 



The Village Churcl} 



Til' air's so still an' the sweet hymns fill our hearts 

witli peace to-day. 
An' til' Lord sort o' seems to come right down an' 

kiss our tears away. 

There's a somethin' grand 'bout the village church 

I can't jes' tell ye why. 
But ye seem to get right close to God, an' ye stand 

there silently, 
Breathin' a prayer so earnest like, ye'r eyes all 

blurred an ' dim. 
As thougli He was standin' there an' ye was whisper- 
in' to Him. 
An' ill' little organ's mellow tones, an' tli' music 

seems so grand. 
Because it tells a tale of love that ye'r heart can 

understand. 
An' ye'r heart feels warm with love that ye want the 

world to know an' share. 
An' til' Lord sort o' seems to come right down and 

sit among us there. 

I got to live in tlf city, 'cause I got my inV rests there. 
But Mother an' me, when we come to die, are botli a 

gain' to share 
A lot in the village churchyard, where our lost boy 

lies asleep. 
An' thougk our lives is happy, sometimes we sit an' 

weep. 



„.l3... 



Contentment 



An' sort o' -^earn for tli' time to come when tli' 

Lord's own lullab-^ 
Floats througli tli' vine-clad window above us as we 

lie; 
When our boy shall wake and we shall take his hand 

at til ' Judgment day. 
Rise from tfi' sod, in tlf steps o' God— we three, an' 

go away. 



T IVE in To-day; nor count the Future's sorrow; 
Live in To-day; nor dream the Future's pain; 
Live in To-day; there may be no To-morrow. 

To-day's delights thou mayst not know again. 

Smile in To-day; whate'er the morrow brings thee. 
Smile in To-day; while yet thy heart is glad; 

Be thou the songster that in gladness sings free ; 
To-day is bright; To-morrow may be sad. 

To-day Life 's harp is tuned to notes of gladness. 
Deft Happiness the sweetest notes may raise. 

To-morrow strikes its wailing strings to sadness. 
And Memory only mournful music plays. 



..14... 



A Horse Trade 



" TJELLO!" sa^s I. 
^ ^ " Hello ! ' ' sa^s he. 
I never see the man afore. 

"Swap?" says I. 

"Dunno," says he. 
'Mebbe, mebbe — I aint shore." 

"Til' bay?" says I. 

"TI2' gray?" says he. 
'Swap!" says we, an' botli unhitched. 

"Fine horse,*' says I. 

"O' course," says he. 
An ' in a minute we had switched. 

"Git up!" says I. 

"Git up!" says he. 
An ' botli them horses stood stock still! 

"Balk?" says I. 

"Yep!" says he. 
'Mine too!" s' I, laughin,' fit to kill. 

"Say!" says I. 

"Hey?" says he. 
Guess that's horse apiece," says we. 

"Good day!" says I. 

"Good day!" says he. 
Best joke, b'gost^, I ever see! 



.15. 



The Inexorable 



^EEK not to fathom Fate's decree; 

Whatever has been was to be. 
Not all the sighs of Time could stay 
The heavy hand she seeks to lay, 
Not all the tears of all the years. 
Could blot one page from yesterday. 

Seek not to see beyond the cloud. 

To fathom depths beneatli the shroud; 

Thy little knowledge soars in vain, 

To beat its wings in dust again. 

It is thy doom to dwell in gloom 

Till Deaili shall see thee rest or reign. 

Thou canst alone hope some wise plan 
Pervades the destiny of man ; 
That purposes divine are blent 
Will} what seems chance or accident. 
That out afar, the falling star 
Sees purpose to its mission bent. 

Thou art a prisoner here, alone. 
And helpless as the sod or stone; 
Small as on greatness layst thou stress. 
Great as thou know'st thy littleness. 
A child of Chance and Circumstance, 
God's infant in thy helplessness. 



.16... 



The Mortgaged Farm 



fjOIN',.goin', goin'—gone! Mother, dear, don't 
•^ cry. 
Til' old home 's passed t' other hands, but mebbe, 

bye an ' bye. 
We may save an' buy another, thougl2 no place 'II 

ever be 
As dear as this one that we 've lost has been t' you 

an' me. 
Goin' , goin' , goin' — gone! Mother come away. 
Til' o^' foJ'tn 's been knocked down an' sold — it does 

no good f stay. 
We 've tried our best t" save it but it wasn't ordered 

so. 
It aint our home no longer— Mother, dear, le'sgo! 

J don't know as I ever see t/^' ol' farm look so fine. 

Never see a deeper green on every shrub an' vine; 

Clover blossoms never smelted so fresli an' sweet, 
somehow. 

Lilacs never grew so thick, it seems, as tl^' do now. 

The ol' white house witli its green blinds, the wood- 
bine creepin ' on, 

'T wont do no harm, I guess, t' take a las' look 'fore 
we 're gone. 

Tried our best V pay tli' debt, we did, tli' Lord mus' 
know. 



...77.. 



The Mortgaged Farm 



But somehow couldn 7 make if quite — Mother, dear, 
le's go. 

Goin', goin\ goin — gone! I seem t' hear it yet, 
Seem t' hear the auctioneer — my eyes somehow get 

wet. 
Gone t' pay tli' mor'gagee, an' we are crowded out; 
Gone! So many things are gone that folks don't 

think about. 
Every blade o' grass an' tree; every foot o' ground 
Has some hauntin' memory, some sweetness clingin' 

'round, 
Some memory for you an' me, that other folks don' 

know. 
It seems somehow the'r speakin' now — Mother, dear, 

le's go. 

Goin', gone! We couldn't save it. Mother, dear; 

we tried. 
But everything went criss-cross — /^' cows took sick 

an' died. 
We had to sell tli' horses — tlf farmin' didn't pay. 
An' troubles sort o' double-quicked— sometimes the' 

come that way. 
Goin', gone! The pasture lands; tli' dairy house 

beside 
Til' brook; the first house that we built where Sue 

and Johnny died. 



.18... 



A Good Deed Done 



T' other folks it's simply losin' of a bit o' land. 
But the's a loss f you an' me that they can't under- 
stand. 

Goin\ goin', goin' — gone! I wonder what's tli* 

use 
Tmnin' heartstrings 'round an' 'round jes' V tear 

'em loose. 
Goin', gone/ T/^' way o' life; why, tl}' good Lord 

knows, 
Buildin' up for years an' years, an' then away she 

goes! 
Hopes or homes, it's jes' tli' same— what we build 

about, 
Other hands mus' reap tfi' fruits an ' we are crowded 

out; 
Story always Jes' tlf same, fr'm tfi' light o' dawn 
T' til' twilight's mist an' shade— hopes goin', goin', 

gone. 



T KNO W one deed in kindness done, 

More glory brings, more fame has won. 
Than countless good we would have wrought 
To all the world— if we had thought. 



19"- 



'Nough For Me 



^OMETIMES I think I'll thrask him, good, 
^ He needs it bad, I'm sure ; 
An' sometimes— well, I b'lieve I would, 

'N then I can 7 endure 
T' teck tk' 'musin' little kid. 

For when he smiles, y' see. 
He looks jes' like his mother did. 

An' that's enougli for me. 

I guess a hundred times or more 

I've taken him inside 
Til' bedroom there, an' closed tli' door 

An' tried an' tried an' tried 
T' bring myself to strike him, onct, 

Jes' onct — an' then I see 
His mother's smile on his wet face. 

An' thafs enougli for me. 

First thing I know I'm sittin ' there 

Pettin' til' little chap. 
An' strokin' of his curly hair, 

Holdin' him in my lap. 
An' dreamin' of her — seein' her 

Jes' as she used to be. 
An' somethin' makes my eyes t' blur. 

An' me cry silently. 



He's got the same brown eyes she had. 
An' the same silky hair. 



...20.. 



'Nougli For Me 



Looks so like her, tlj' little lad, 

That — well, I jes' don' dare 

To la^ a finger rougli on him, 

' T 'd almos' seem as thougli 

I was a' bein' harsf^ to her. 
An' so I let him go. 

He aint a bad boy — no, he aint, 

Jes' mischievous, that's all. 
In all his make-up, tt^' aint a taint 

O' meanness — an' I call 
T' mind when things she used to do 

Exactly like he does, 
I thought was jes' tlf cutest an' 

Til' dearest ever was. 

Y' know sometimes he'll come t' me 

An' say to me: ''Say, Dad, 
Y' aint goin ' t' whip me, now, are ye, 

I aint been very bad. ' ' 
An' then he'll twist, an' sort o' smile. 

My eyes get blurred and dim. 
Til' ^int enough gold in tli' world 

T' hire me V tecli him. 

Folks say I'm spoilin'' him — may be 
I am, but I don't dare 

7"' tecli him rougli— he looks like she 
Did, an"* so I don't care. 



...21,. 



Song of Endeas?or 



He puts his little arms aroun ' 
My neck, an' I can see 

Her in his eyes, so big an' brown, 
An' that's enough for me. 



' CJ^IS not by wishing that we gain the prize, 
■^ Nor yet by ruing. 

But, from our fallings, learning how to rise. 
And tireless doing. 

The idols broken, not our tears and sighs 

May yet restore them. 
Regret is only food for fools; the wise 

Look but before them. 

Nor ever yet Success was wooed witli tears; 

To notes of gladness 
Alone the fickle goddess turns herjears, 

She hears not sadness. 

The heart thrives not in the dull rain and mist 

Of gloomy pining. 
The sweetest flowers are the flowers sun kissed. 

Where glad light shining. 



.22... 



Tap^ 



Look not behind thee; there is only dust 

And vain regretting; 
The lost tide ebbs; in the next flood tl^oii must 

Learn, by forgetting. 

For the lost chances be ye not distressed 

To endless weeping. 
Be not the thrush that o'er the empty nest 

Is vigil keeping. 

But in new efforts our regrets to-day 

To stillness whiling, 
Let us in some pure purpose find the way 

To future smiling. 



TIGHTS out! and darkness brooding deep around 
Thee, soldier; not the trembling bugle's sound 
Nor volley thrice repeated o'er tl^e mound 

Shall waken thee. 
Lights out! Not where the flag of battle flies. 
Nor here, where the sad, silent shadow lies. 
Shall drum beat call or bugle bid thee rise. 

But silently. 
Thy duty done, thou steepest. Rest thee well. 
Nor any rude alarm shall strike and swell 
To rouse thee — Glory stands, thy sentinel. 

Good night to thee! 



...23.. 



Out O^er There 



T SEE the transport 's here at last; the soldier bo-^s 
-*■ have come. 
I hear the bugles brayin^ an'' the beatin' o' the 

drum; 
I can see the flags a' flyin' and the bands begin to 

An' it seems to me they sailed from Frisco only 

yesterday; 
rd nice to join the shout in' , but I couldn't cheer a 

note, 
There's a lump that's always risin' and a chokin' in 

my throat. 
They're marchin' down the street by twos — Fm 

watchin' every pair, 
But I know my boy aint witli 'em — they have left 

him over there. 

I know a fellow ought to try to put aside his tears. 

An' he ought to join the shoutin' an' the ringin' , 
rousin' cheers. 

But say! It's hard to stand here an' to see 'em 
marchin' on. 

An' to know that my boy's missin' from them march- 
in' ranks, an' gone; 

Say, if I could only see him, with his head erect an' 
high. 

An' if he could know I was a watchin' of him passin' 
by! 



.24... 



Out Over There 



An' know that in that cheerin' he was get tin' of his 

share/ 
But he can't — the Lord saw fit to muster him out 

over there. 

There's so many, Lord, so many; an' my boy was 

all I had, 
An' it seems you might a' left him to his poor old, 

lovin' Dad. 
His mother died so long ago; he never knew her face. 
An' Daddy's breast in childhood was his only 

res tin' place; 
An ' when the call for volunteers was made, he come 

to me. 
An' he pleaded to go witli 'em, an' he begged so 

earnestly. 
An' I says: "He 'sail I've got. Lord, an' I know 

you 'II surely spare 
My boy, an' let him come back." An' he's lyin' 

over there. 

An' I thought to go to Frisco, an' to greet him when 

he come. 
An' to stay till he was mustered out, an' then to 

bring him home. 
An' so Fm here to see the boys,— to hear the shouts 

an ' cheers, 
A poor old father watchin' 'em througli eyes that's 

blurred witli tears; 



...25... 



Look Up 



I know he's not among 'em, but it sort o' seems to 

me, 
That he can't be Ivin' out there dead across the 

sobbin ' sea; 
There's so many boys, so many, that the Lord was 

good to spare. 
That I can't believe my boy is in his grave out over 

there. 



j^ ACH little day 
That slips away 
And finds for thee no pleasure, 
That steals along 
Without a song. 
Is just a wasted treasure. 

The sands that pass 

Througli the hour glass 
And find thee in repining, 

Mark the lost hours. 

The freshest flowers 
Blow when the sun is shining. 

Thou shall not grope 
For the lost hope 
Througli darkness dim, unending. 



...26... 



The Dead 



Ne'er vain regret 
Succeeded yet 
A broken thread in mending. 

The chance that's lost. 

Let not the cost 
Be flowing tears and sighing. 

When countless more 

From life 's vast store 
Are to be had for trying. 

So put away 

Thy cares to-day, 
And cease thy fate reviling. 

For Chance eludes 

The soul that broods. 
And courts the soul thaVs smiling. 



^ OME sleep under the sighing pine, 
O And some sleep under the snow, 
Some where flowers toss and twine. 

And some where oceans flow. 
Some where the glacier growls and grinds. 

And some 'neatly the cool, green sod, 
But all sleep the same sleep, and waking finds 

Each^ one in the arms of God. 



..2y. 



Writing A Letter Home 



J^E wrote home: "Mother, dear, I have 

A place that will not fail. 
I'm working for the Commonwealt/^. ' ' 

('Twas true — he was in jail.) 

" I board and lodge at my employer's 
House." ('Twas so, you see.) 

' I have a private room, that has 
Been set apart for me. 

* My habits are quite regular. 

I do eacfi bidden task. 
My food" — ('Twas bread and water, lone;) 
" Is all that I can ask. 

'■* I'm held above my fellow men 

And my companions here. " 
(He was the only prisoner 

Kept in the upper tier.) 

* / had some hope that I might come 

To see you Christmas day. 
But as it is, I do not see 

How I can get away. 

' I am to make a journey, soon," 

(He was condemned, you know. 
For murder,) " but I cannot say 
Yet, just where I will go. " 



..28. 



The Cup Will Pass 



The sheriff wrote, after 'twas done: 

" Your son died suddenly. 
'Twos Just this morning he dropped off ' 
(The gallows, don't you see.) 

' Your son stood higl^ among us here," 
(The gallows was quite tall.) 

' And hundreds gathered at the last " — 
(They did — to see him fall.) 

The dear old lady read the news. 
And said, wiping her eye: 

' All, W'e// — since he must be cut down, 
I'm glad he stood so higli. " 



^ THE cup will pass, 

How bitter may it be, 
Thougli thou mayst drain 

Its deepest dreg and lee, 
A sweeter wine 

Some day will brim the glass, 
The draught be thine. 

The bitter cup will pass. 



...29... 



Stubbed His Toe 



(sTHilD ye ever pass a youngster et 'd been an' 
^^ stubbed his toe, 
An' was cry in' by the roadside sort o' quiet like an' 

slow; 
A holdin' of his dusty foot, all hard an' brown an' 

bare, 
An' try in' to keep fr'm his eyes tlf tears that's 

gat her in' there? 
Ye hear him sort o' sobbin' like, an' snufflin' of his 

nose. 
Ye stop an' pat his head an' someway try t' ease his 

woes. 
Ye treat him sort o' kind like, an' tlf first thing that 

y' know. 
He's up an' off an' smilin' — clean forgot he stubbed 

his toe. 

'Long til' road ^' human life ye see a fellow travelin' 

slow. 
An' like as not ye' II find he's some poor chap that's 

stubbed his toe. 
He was makin' swimmin' headway, but he bumped 

into a stone. 
An' his friends kep' hurry in' onward an' they left 

him here alone. 
He aint sobbin^ er aint sniff tin' — he's too old for 

tears an' cries. 
But he's grievin' Jes' as earnest, ef it only comes in 

sighs. 



...3o... 



Forgetfulness 



An' it does a heap o' good sometimes to go a little 

slow. 
To say a word o' comfort to tk' man that's stubbed 

his toe. 

Ye'r never sure y^'rself, an' tli' aint no earthl'^ way 

t' know 
Jes' when it's goin' t' come ye'r time t' trip an' stub 

ye'r toe; 
To-day ye' re smilin', happy, in tt^' bright sun's heat 

an ' glow, 
Tomorrow ye'r a shiver in" as ye'r trudgin' througli 

til' snow. 
Jes' when ye think ye got tli' world tli' fastest in ye'r 

grip 

Is tti' very time ye' II find, et ye' re tli' likeliest t' 

slip. 
An' it's mighty comfortin' t' have some fellow stop, 

I know. 
An' speak t' ye an"* kind o' help ye when yeWe 

stubbed ye 'r toe. 



j^O-DA Y, bestrewn the troubled way 
Willi fears, as saints we kneel to pray. 
The way tomorrow, unbeset. 
Self -proud we rise — and we forget. 



.31. 



An Art Criticism 



" /^ RAGGED kid, in a torn, straw hat, 
C/jf Witli his hair stuck througli, an' a sassy smile. 
An' one suspender 'crost, like that— 

Wal—it may be art, but it aint my style. 

Diggin' tti' sand witli his bare big toe. 

An- a big loose patcli sewed to his knee, 

Shovin' his hands in his pockets — so. 

Why they call that art dogged ef I see. 

Why tlf little runt eVs painted there, 

Willi his eyes half closed, an' winkin' down, 
Til' sassy little rat, I swear 

Fve seen him, right in my own town. 

Them funny freckles, big an' brown, 

'N tliem ragged pants an' that torn straw hat, 
I bet I kin find, right in our town 

A dozen kids 'et look like that. 

Why shof Fve caught more kids like that 
In til' limbs o' my own apple tree, 

Lookin' out under that oV straw hat. 
An' winkin' sassy down at me. 

TW little scamp! I kin almost hear 

Him say: " Hev an apple, Dad," an' throw 
One down an' ketch me on tli' ear! 

Why they call that art, dogged ef I know. 



...32... 



The Archer's Shaft 



An' til' goldarned thing! A city chap 

Come along an' paid five hundred cold 

Fer it, an' thought he had a snap! 

I had t' laugli 7 how he got sold. 

A ragged kid in a torn, straw hat, 

Like Fve seen a hundred times, I bet. 

An' payin' out that much fer that! 

B'gosli, tk ' fools aint all dead yet !" 



/J FEATHERED arrow to his bow, 
^-"'^ The archer Hatred fitted taut. 
Drew tight the bowstring, kneeling low. 

And forth a venomed message shot. 

So full his quiver he forgot, 

Ere died the twang of his bowstring. 
The poisoned shaft that fortli he shot. 

The venomed message set awing. 

Until, as througli ^he wood he sped 

Another da}>, he found it where 

A heart, fell stricken, lying dead. 

The shaft had pierced and quivered there. 



.33. 



Vanities 



"/^ IVE me Fame, " cried the genius. 
\J The wizard's smile was grim, 
His arm stretched fortfi and a tasteless fruit 
Plucked from a rotten limb. 
"I seek, sir, Fame," cried the genius, 
" Ye have given me instead 
A rotten fruit." The wizard spoke: 
"This is Fame," he said. 

"Give me Power," cried the monarch. 
The wizard smiled again, 
A crown of thorn he gave to him 

And a sword wit I} a bloody stain. 
"But I seek Power, " cried the monarcti, 
"What have ye given instead?" 
The wizard spoke: "I tell thee, Sire, 
These are Power," he said. 

"Give me Love," cried the maiden. 
The wizard sadly smiled, 
A bleeding heart he gave to her, ^ 

And the form of a cold, dead child. 
"I asked for Love, " mused the maiden, 

" Ye have given me Grief instead." 
The wizard sighed and softly spoke: 
"Love is Grief," he said. 

"Give me Peace, " cried a weary soul. 
The wizard laughed aloud. 



.34... 



Friends 



Drew fortli from his store of treasure 
And gave to him a shroud. 
* I asked for Peace," he shuddered, 
" Ye give me Deatli, instead. " 
Th e w izard mused. " / tell thee 

That this is Peace," he said. 



^T^HE'S a little toucl^ o' winter in t/^' air, 

The's leaves a' droppin' , droppin' everywhere, 
The's gusts o' snow a' blowin' , 
But the's evergreen a growin' , 
Lookin' fresher 'n brighter 'n ever, 
Jes' to show et th' aint never 
Any time when all tl^' trees is stripped an' bare. 

The's a little toucfi o' trouble in tf^' air, 

The's friends a droppin', droppin' everywhere. 

But the's some et's clingin' faster. 

Even when ye've met disaster, 

Jes' to show et tli' aint ever 

Any trouble et can sever 

Friends et's evergreen— tlf kind o' friends eVs rare. 



...35. 



The Lost Heart 



aryACK among the trees and trellises, along the 
-*-' leaf strewn lane. 
Sitting on the hank of the mill stream and dreaming 

dreams again. 
Drinking water sweet as nectar from the bucket at 

the well, 
In the orchard's leaf and silence, watching windfalls 

as they fell. 
Trying, here at five and thirty, just to be a boy 

again. 
To recall the joys of boyhood and forget the cares of 

men. 
But I listen to a lesson in the twitter of the wren: 
When the boy's heart turns to man's it never throbs 

the same again. 

Once the sun marks noon of lifetime, once the morn- 
ing steals away. 

Once the shadows growing shorter and then fall the 
other way. 

Once the playtime ends at manhood, once the 
frolicking is done. 

Once the face is turned from dawning to the setting 
of the sun. 

You may sit among the flowers that you plucked and 
threw away. 

Turn the leaves of Time all backward, try to read 
them as vou mav. 



.36... 



The Lost Heart 



You way kindle fires of Memory, you may sit and 

watciti the flame. 
But there's something changed within you that can 

never be the same. 

You may lay aside the burden of your troubles as you 

will, 
But the bent and sunken shoulders tell the story to 

you still; 
The story of the troubles and the trials that are 

sealed 
From the simple hearts of children, and to men alone 

revealed. 
The sorrow dulls, the sigli is stilled, the sore hearts 

soothed are. 
The smarting wound is healed again, but always 

leaves a scar. 
The fire of youtli burns only once, and dies in its 

dead flame. 
The simple heart of boyhood that can never be the 

same. 

So I sit among the trellises and trees and wonder 

why. 
Clear the air as in my boyhood and as blue the un- 

flecked sky. 
Full the leaves as ever blowing, sweet the birdsongs 

and as free. 



...37... 



Compensation 



But the bo-^'s heart that throbbed to them is untuned 

and dead in me. 
There's a longing, longing, longing, speaking in a 

deep drawn sigfi. 
For the heart that throbbed in boyhood, cloudless as 

the azure sky. 
For the heart that was the sunlight and the air — that 

tongue nor pen 
Can ever paint or picture— that I cannot know 

again. 



TTAD we not met we had not known these sighs, 
-*■-*■ These heart-aches and these leaden-winged 

years, 
The sorrows speaking in these grief-wet eyes. 

Had we not met we had not known these 

tears. 

•And yet, had we not met, we had not known 

The bliss of gladness in those other whiles. 

Ere the gay-plumaged yesterday had flown. 

Had we not met we had not known those 
smiles! 



.38... 



The Unsounded Depths 



CT' HE sweetest song is the unsung, 
^ Unspoken is the kindest word. 

The clearest chime the heart's unrung. 
The grandest music the unheard. 

Nor singer grand, nor bard witti lyre. 

Within his sweetest song may hold 

The fullness of the flaming fire 

That leaps within, but is not told. 

There is a grandeur and sublime 

That lingers hidden in the heart. 

That will not speak in note or rhyme. 

The fire, unseen, that flames apart. 

The grandest deed is that, undone. 

Whose endless promptings veer and roll 

But take no shape— the ray less sun 

That shines unseen within the soul. 

And, deed or song or rhyme or word. 

That soul may stir, or heart may fill. 

There is a sweeter far, unheard, 

An unseen beauty, grander still. 

No tongue may tell the deepest roll. 

Where, all unfathomed, sweep apart 
The ocean waters of the soul. 

The depths unseen, within the heart. 



...39... 



A Parting 



'(Sp^ON' go, Bill, den' go! 
'^'^ I know it tnus' seem slow 
Here on tli ' farm fer a boy like you; 
I know flue's many a chore to do. 
Not mucJ^ ill til'' way o' company 
'Cept what ye git from Ma an' me. 
An' it's tempt in' to think o' tlf world so wide. 
An' all o' til' pleasures o' life outside 
Our quiet little home life here; 
But, Bill, it'll seem so hard an' queer 
Fer Ma an' me, as we alius do. 
Not to sit an' feel so proud o' you 
When we see you roun'. I know it's slow. 
But, Bill, I wisht you would' t go! 

' Don' go. Bill, don' go! 
Ma's tears jes' flow an' flow 
When she's packin' up yer trunk — an' I — 
Well, Bill, I aint mucli on tlf cry. 
But tlf oV man's heart is heavy. Bill, 
The's an achin' there that won't be still; 
Jim 's gone, an ' thougli a year's gone by. 
It don ' seem right he had to die; 
Then Jack lef home, an' Lou is wed. 
An ' mebbe even Jack is dead, 
Fer we haven't heard a word from him; 
Bill! Bill! Our flock /^as grown so slim, 
Ye' re all we've got now. Bill, an' so , 
J jes ' can 7 bear to lei ye go! 



40... 



The Lost Chance 



* What d'ye say, Bill ? Ye won 7 go ! 
Boy, boy, ye' II never know 

What a load ye've raised fr'm th' oV folks' heart, 
Fer we couldn 7 bear to see ye start. 
Come here. Bill, let me hug ye once ; 
Well, drat me fer a sneakin ' dunce. 
If my blame oV eyes ain't filled with tears. 
When I feel like whoopin' up with cheers. 
An' Bill, let's go tell Mother so. 
That her boy says he ain't goin' to go. " 



J J PON the stream of Life we see 
*-^ The ship of Opportunity 
Cast loose from wharf and pier. 

And slip to sea ; alone we stand. 
Forsaken in a lonely land. 

Beset with fear on fear. 
Across the wave we cry and call : 

"Ho! Wait ! Ho ! Wait ! Ho ! Wait ! 
The mocking echoes fly and fall : 

" Too late ! Too late ! Too late ! ' ' 



...^/... 



Verses to a Little Child 



'\TEVER a care as she lies asleep, 
■*- ^ Dear little lassie witl^ red-browii hair. 
Angels of Light a sweet vigil keep. 

Keep for the little one slumbering there. 
Never a dream as she lies so still. 

Never a dream but of Fairyland, 
Fairyland and the flowers that fill 

Her bed, and the lilies within her hand. 

Never a tear as she lies at rest, 

Now or ever or evermore. 
Never a sorrow to bruise her breast. 

Ever the gladness of fairylore. 
Never the rougli way to bruise her feet, 

Never or ever a discord sound. 
Only the murmur of music sweet. 

And the laughing of Cherubim, all around. 

Never a sigli from the silent lips. 

For the dollies all carefully laid away. 
Only the music of laughter slips 

Out of the realm of the sunlit day. 
Never or ever a thought or care. 

For the little hat witk its flowered wreatli. 
Bearing a vision of red-brown hair 

Flying in tangled curls beneatli. 

Dead? All, no! She is just asleep, 

Asleep whiere the dreams and daisies are. 



.42... 



The Difference 



Angels of Light a sweet vigil keep. 

Keep in the light of a twinkling star. 

Asleep, and the odors of flowers fill 

Her bed, and the lilies within her hand; 

Asleep, and the whispering angels still 

Her sighs witti the dreams of Fairyland. 



^OMETIMES when Pa gets mad because 
I bust some of his household laws. 
He says: "Look here, you rascal you, 
I'll whale you, sir, that's what I'll do." 
An' Ma, she Just turns up her nose, 
An' sits there in refined repose, 
An' higher still her nose she tilts. 
An' Pa don't lick me — he just wilts. 

When Ma gets mad because I do 

Some little thing she said not to. 

She don't talk loud and wild like Dad, 

Bui just says: " Will, come here, my lad. " 

An' Pa don 't get no chance to tilt 

His nose — an' Ma, well, she don't wilt; 

She just leads Willie boy away 

Out to the shed and makes him lay 

Acrost her lap— seems just like play, 

'Cept Willie don't sit down that day. 



...43. 



Gladness By The Way 



JET us smile along together, 
^^ Be the weather 
What it mai'. 
Throng/^ the waste and wealtl^ of hours 
Plucking flowers 

By the way. 
Fragrance from the meadows blowing, 
Naught of heat or hatred knowing, 
Kindness seeking, kindness sowing. 
Not tomorrow, but to-day. 

Let us sing along, beguiling 
Grief to smiling 

In the song. 
Witll the promises of Heaven 
Let us leaven 

The day long. 
Gilding all the duller seemings 
Willi the roselight of our dreaming s. 
Splashing clouds witl^ sunlight's gleamings. 

Here and there and all along. 

Let us live along, the sorrow 
Of tomorrow 

Never heed. 
In the pages of the present 
What is pleasant 

Only read. 



44- 



Lost Opportunities 



Bells but pealing, never knelling, 
Hearts with gladness ever swelling, 
Tides of charity iipwelling 

In our ever}f dream and deed. 

Let us hope along together. 
Be the weather 

What it may. 
Where the sunlight glad is shining. 
Not repining 

By the way. 
Seek to add our meed and measure 
To the old Earth 's joy and treasure. 
Quaff the crystal cup of pleasure. 

Not tomorrow, but to-day. 



^^HVEET songs, half whispering to me in the solitude 
Of sweeter melody they might have sung. 
And phantom flowers that scent for me the leafy wood 
With wraiths of the perfume they might have flung. 

Sweet faces smiling dimly through the shadowy light, 
Ghosts of the full perfection that had shown. 

Had not the sun gone down ere it was night. 

Leaving but shadows of the unfulfilled, alone. 



..,45... 



Beneatli the Snows 



^ n HERE are flowers of good cheer growing close 
by the way. 

That stretches from dark to the dawn; 
Full wreathed in the green leaves of smiles, so they 
say. 

And never or ever are gone. 
The snows of misfortune deep mantling the ground. 

The blasts from the Northland grow shrill, 
Beneatli we may find them full blooming around. 

And pluck them whenever we will. 

There are ripples of laughter down deep in the heart. 

As flowers that bloom 'neatly the snows; 
Thougl2 fettered witli ice there is water apart. 

That tinkles and trills as it flows. 
The breatl2 of Misfortune may strew its hoar frost. 

The moan of the winter be chill. 
The music of joy be afar but not lost. 

And we may still hear, if we will. 

There are songs of Delight on the wings of the wind, 

Thougli hoarser the tempest we hear; 
Thougli fierce in its raging the wild storm has 
dinned 

Its discord of strife on the ear. 
The deep diapason, the storm 's sullen roar 

Shall sink to a murmur, be still. 
And songs that are sweeter shall tremble once more. 

The songs we may hear, if we will. 



46... 



A Lady's Letter of Regret 



" TNDEED I regret that I cannot accept," 

-* (Oh, Lord, what a whopper was that! ) 

"Poor writing is weak; if I only could speak," 

( Yes, if I could speak— througli my hat!) 
•'I feel that you'd know iliat it just grieves me so." 

(If I went I just know I should die.) 
' 'For it's always a treat at your dear house to meet!" 

(Oil, yes, it's a treat — in your eye!) 

"Your at-home cards enclosed found me quite in- 
disposed, " 

(To accept —but I don't write it so.) 
''And I really don't dare yet to risk the niglit air." 

(And your airs would kill me, I know! ) 
"I would come and right quick if I weren 7 so sick" 

(Of the trashy amusements you shower!) 
" You dear soul, you don't know how mucli I'd like 
to go" 

(Before I'd been there half an hour!) 

"I'm sure that each guest will with pleasure be 
blessed," 

(I'm blessed if I envy their lot! ) 
"I'd give anything to hear dear Clara sing!" 

(How thankful lam tliat I'll not!) 
"I know I will hear from my friends just how dear 

Was your function" (if any endure), 
'And I know 'tis a fact 'twill be nice as your tact" 

(I pity it if 'tis as poor!) 



,..47' 



The Evil of Wishing 



To his young wife he said . 
" Could I 
But taste again my 
Mothers pie, 
I would be willing, quite. 
To die " 

They rode out to the 

Farm one day, 
A week or so with 

Ma to stay. 
He stowed a whole 

Mince pie away. 

Now that for whicl^ he 
Long had sighed. 

Lay like a lump of 
Lead inside 

His stomach ; he lay 
Down and died. 

The man who craves youth's 

Pies, 'tis true. 
If he would eat them and 

Not rue. 
Should have his boyhood's 

Stomach, too. 



...48... 



/y->-^ ^^ 






^ . 




















'^i-O'' 







^V ^ 



CU o 




^ <$^ 






"^o.^-o.y--",^^ . Q^/^o^;-^ a'^'^'v.o %"'°' 



^.<^'' 



.^' .^. 




. <^ 



^ , X -^ . V^ 
















't/^ 







-■ % 

- ^^<< 



.^^ 






3 , 










n4 









'^^,.^^ 



■^^^' 



K 



.- ,.t* 









!€♦" J °^' °-^^^^*" ^^^ "-^ 







^o^ 






.^ .^ 







^»\,# 






,^ .' 







V #^ 










V 



^ ^-^ 










^^> ^ 







<^ ^^ 










^ "Q^ . ^ .^J, J^« "CD^ .' ^ ^^^ ^"'* "CI 














^. 



.^' 



fP^ s-''-',.<i: rP^sV*' 



^s^Sm^ ^ "^ 






V ^ 









\> ^' ""^ -o 



C^ -o,x 






^ -^^o^ 













• '^y:^^s.<r ^.''r^^-^jT ^^'-:t^\# 



0^ o '*/"^-!>^'g^ 










0^' s^-r^<^^ 




^^0^ 




'^JU^ ^ 



v^""^ 






•^< 












.#^ 



.s^^. 



.' .^^ 




<,4o 






■a? '>*^ 






